


Blood is Only Water

by le_assian



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, Gen, Hogwarts, Triwizard Tournament
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 00:10:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1245448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/le_assian/pseuds/le_assian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story with all original characters (sorry) during the 1940s (there are some references to Grindelwald and Dumbledore eventually though). After many failed attempts to revive the Triwizard Tournament, Durmstrang Institute attempts to establish the next Tournament at their school. But as we all know too well, the Triwizard Tournament rarely goes as planned. Alastair, our main hero, struggles to find time to enjoy the historic event as the Institute undergoes substantial changes--most significantly, a change in Headmaster, when the original, Alastair's father, is found dead on the grounds. And the new Headmaster? None other than his uncle and his father's brother...<br/>Rated T for language and mild violence. Shouldn't get too gory but if it does I'll make edits accordingly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood is Only Water

**Author's Note:**

> God dammit Alastair.  
> Also this is strongly influenced by another famous work and some of you may have guessed it already but if not you get three chances may the odds be ever in your favor.

                “I’m going down to the field,” Alastair muttered, and Horas glanced up in surprise.

                “Now?” Horas blinked, looking at his watch. “We still have twenty minutes.”

                “I’ve finished my ‘assignment’,” Alastair rolled his eyes in response. It was evident what _he_ thought about tea leaf Divination. “He won’t have a problem if I leave a few minutes early.”

                Horas knew better than to argue. Alastair had the irksome tendency to get anything he could ask for without even asking. He settled back into his chair and sighed, glancing through his textbook to make heads or tails of the clumps of wet leaves at the bottom of his cup. Alastair rose from his seat and said a few low words to the professor before departing, slamming the door shut without prudence.

                “I’m pretty sure this is a broomstick,” Leando frowned and tilted his cup a little. Then he tilted his head and said, “Wait, maybe it’s a tree branch? There’s some leaves there…”

                Gaspard leaned over to look and snorted before going back to his own cup. “That’s a crack on the bottom, you fool.” Horas stifled a snort as Leando blinked and righted himself, his look askance as he glared into his cup.

                “I’m fairly certain I was supposed to die yesterday,” Gaspard blinked lethargically and tipped his cup. Slowly, inevitably, inch by sorry inch, the tea leaves slid out and splattered onto the saucer beneath. “Aren’t I a magical marvel?”

                “Absolutely fascinating,” Leando agreed viciously before slamming his cup onto its saucer—and promptly breaking the vessel clean in two.

                “Told you there was a crack,” Gaspard rolled his eyes somewhat as the professor strode over to see what was going on. Horas clapped a hand over his mouth to hide his grin, and even Gaspard’s lips twitched somewhat upward as he muttered, “ _Reparo_ ”. The two halves of the cup shuddered, came together, and neatly mended itself along its crack.

The professor was continuing his strong cajoling—something about “disturbing the cosmic energies” and “disrespecting the art of the unseen”. Gaspard picked up Alastair’s cup now, reaching across the table to perhaps dump out its contents as well. But the professor snatched it out of his hands and promptly began railing on him. Gaspard looked supremely irritated—which for him constituted as narrowing his eyes imperceptibly. If the professor took note, he didn’t care; he continued on his rant while brandishing the cup around before glancing in it—and gasping in shock at once.

                Horas felt his eyes widen somewhat in surprise, although he wasn’t sure if he should laugh or not. A few of their classmates didn’t even bother hiding their clear amusement. Some tables were hooting wildly at their professor’s comical shock.

                “Professor?” Horas prompted, trying to get his attention. Their professor turned to him, his face, usually red from the heat and shouting, was blanched.

                “Who’s—who’s cup…?” he asked, the teacup shaking in his fingers.

                “Alastair, sir,” Leando answered, and the professor shook his head and told them, “Boys, you must find him…you must _warn_ him…”

                With an impatient snort, Gaspard seized the cup from the professor’s hand and looked in it himself. His expression went from disgust to vague shock, however, as he twisted the cup perhaps ten degrees clockwise.

                “Give me that,” Leando demanding, snatching away the cup from Gaspard’s limp grip and glaring into it.

                “Don’t mistake it for a crack this time,” Horas smiled, but Leando didn’t even spare him a glare. He passed the cup wordlessly, and Horas took it curiously. A few rotations of the cup later, he paused and stared uncomprehendingly.

                “But isn’t this…?”

                “The Grim,” the professor agreed solemnly, clapping a hand on Gaspard’s shoulder. “Boys, you _must_ tell Alastair—”

                “It’s God damn tea leaves,” said Horas waspishly, replacing the cup onto the table and jostling the leaves so much the portent of Death had disappeared from the bottom. “And not worth bothering Alastair about.”

                Gaspard and Leando glanced at each other before Leando rose from his seat and headed for the door of the room.

                “Leando!” Horas snapped, rising as well. Gaspard sighed heavily, hung his head, and followed after.

                Horas raced after Leando as he vaulted down the tower steps. Gaspard did as he usually did and perched on top of the rail, sliding down it with an impassive expression. Panting, Horas raced down the steps after Leando, who was running out of the main entrance towards the Quidditch field. Alastair’s telltale flying style, however, was absent from the dusky sky. Horas, Leando, and Gaspard jogged across the bridge of the roaring, icy river towards the field.

                “Alastair?” Horas called out for him. “Are you there?”

                When no one answered, Horas picked up his pace, and Leando and Gaspard followed after him.

                “Alastair?” Leando shouted, and Horas tried to calm himself. It was a stupid omen made of stupid tea leaves in a stupid tea cup with stupid pink floral patterns on its stupid cracked rim. Alastair wasn’t _actually_ dead. But at this time of night, with the sky quickly darkening and the temperature dropping with every step they took, it was easy to imagine Alastair’s corpse dumped carelessly across the roots of some trees, or discarded into the freezing waters of the river, skin blue and eyes foggy and gray…

                “Wait,” Gaspard said in a low tone, and Horas and Leando paused to turn back to him. He was standing still, but Horas couldn’t tell what he was doing. It was getting too dark for that.

                “ _Lu—_ ”

                “No,” Gaspard cut off Horas’ spell. “Wait. I think I saw something.”

                Horas lowered his wand slightly as he stared into the night, his eyes straining to see what Gaspard had. So far, he couldn’t detect a thing in the night. The trio stood in tense silence, and Horas was acutely aware of his breathing. He felt as if there were eyes all around them, watching, waiting. It wasn’t as if Durmstrang had exterminated the magical creatures roaming the mountainous regions and the surrounding forests. While they rarely approached the school, there were always the occasional report of one coming own to the campus and wreaking havoc…

                Finally, after an almost unbearable break of silence, Leando hissed, “Gaspard, what—?”

                Almost as if in answer to Leando’s unfinished question, a white glow pulsed at the edge of the forest. It was soft and subtle, but the three boys still jumped six feet in the air when they saw it. But as soon as it appeared, it disappeared again, leaving them in darkness.

                For a moment, none of them said or did anything. Then, Horas, steeling himself, took a few steps forward, brandishing his wand and lighting its tip slightly to illuminate his way. With an audible swallow, Leando came after. Gaspard refused to move until the other two were practically out of sight, at which point he caught up to them with a light jog.

                “This is stupid,” he muttered, but Horas and Leando ignored him. Leando lit his own wand tip to give them more visibility.

                Suddenly, a flash of red light streaked across their vision, narrowly missing Gaspard’s head and erupting into dozens of red sparks on the tree trunk behind him.

                “God—!” he exclaimed before clapping a hand over his mouth and regaining his composure. Horas raised his wand in the general direction in which the stunning spell came from, but lowered it when he realized who he was seeing.

                “Alastair,” Horas sighed in relief. “Thank God.” He lowered his wand and chuckled a little. “Oh, God. You won’t believe—what are you—didn’t you say you were practicing on the Quidditch field?”

                “What are you doing here?” Alastair demanded, and Horas blinked and smiled sheepishly.

                “It’s a ridiculous story. You’d laugh if you heard.”

                “Try me.” Alastair lowered his own wand, but his expression didn’t relax.

                Horas waved his hand while Leando also lowered his wand. He was about to explain when Gaspard exclaimed hoarsely, “You tried to stun me.”

                “You surprised me.”

                “You tried to _stun_ me.” Gaspard never sounded so shocked in his life.

                “Calm down,” Alastair sneered. “It’s not like it was _Avada Kedavra_.”

                “We saw a Grim at the bottom of your teacup,” Horas cut the argument off short. “We just thought—I mean—well, there’s no use talking about it now. It’s just a stupid—”

                Silently, solemnly, a mangy, shaggy, long-legged dog appeared just behind Alastair’s legs. With a yelp, Leando and Horas scrambled back while Gaspard whipped up his wand. A bright blue light began to shine at its tip when Alastair snapped, “Stop being cowards, you idiots. It’s a Patronus—a Patronus!”

                Now that they had the chance to regain their wits, they saw that it was, indeed, a Patronus, and not a Grim. For one thing, it was white and had a particular glow about it.

                “I didn’t realize your Patronus was a dog,” Horas frowned as he stepped forward, and Alastair snorted and replied, “It’s not.”

                Horas paused. “Then this is…?”

                “It’s—”

                “Listen,” it spoke suddenly, cutting off Alastair. Its voice echoed hollowly through the trees, and was somehow very familiar. “I haven’t much time. I’ll disappear soon, won’t be here for long.”

                The four of them turned their attention to the Patronus, Alastair spinning around to speak to it.

                “Who are you? Can I help you?” asked Alastair, perhaps wondering if the caster of the Patronus was hurt nearby.

                “Don’t worry about me—if you care about me, you’ll listen, and listen close.”

                Horas glanced apprehensively at Gaspard and Leando, who shrugged and shook their heads. They had no idea what to make of this, either. But Alastair bent down so he was nose to nose with the dog Patronus and said, “Then speak. I’ll listen.”

                The dog paced around the trees for a moment, apparently agitated, before sitting itself down on his haunches in front of Alastair again and leaning forward until it was nearly touching him.

                “It’s me, Alastair—your father. And I am dying. Soon to be dead.”

                Alastair jerked back, standing up and taking a few steps towards Horas, who stepped forward to catch his friend before he fell over in shock. The Patronus rose onto his legs and stepped forward.

                “Telling you what happened—it would chill you, Alastair, make your hair stand on end.” The dog pauses in its speech as its glow flares for a moment before dimming somewhat.

                “Oh, God,” Alastair said shakily, shuddering in Horas’ arms. Horas was essentially holding up Alastair at this point. Apparently the boy’s legs would no longer hold him up. In the pale lighting of their wands and the Patronus’ glow, it looked like he was about to be sick.

                “I’m running out of time,” it seemed to sigh before looking up at Alastair again and continuing, “If you ever loved me, avenge me.” It stepped forward again, its translucent eyes seeming to burn. “Avenge my murder.”

                “Murder!” Alastair exclaimed, scrambling to his feet but still using Horas’ shoulder for support.

                “The best murder,” it said bitterly and snorted. “The best murder—which is to say, the most foul murder. The worst murder.”

                Alastair collapsed in front of the Patronus now, his eyes wide as he leaned in close to the dog, the only last remaining remnant of his father.

                “Listen closely,” it murmured. “I’ve been cursed, sent to a garden in the dead of night only to be bitten by a snake. And now that _snake_ is sitting in my seat, in my _place_ , my _life_ …! Taken my seat as Headmaster like I always knew he wanted!” The Patronus’ voice rose, its fur bristling and its white light flaring again like a dying star, blinding them for a moment as its sonorous voice howled in its rage.

                “Shut him up!” Gaspard shouted over its raging, and Alastair called, “My uncle? Are you talking about my _uncle_?”

                And abruptly as it started, the Patronus stopped its flaring with a blink. The forest was dim now, and dark.

                “Yes,” it sighed before spitting around its feral teeth, “That adulterous _bastard_. Had no idea he was an Animagus, used his wits to get the better of me, get my power, my seat…my _wife_.”

                “Wife?” Alastair echoed, in a panic. “My mother?”

                “He’s stolen her from me!” it howled at the night sky. “I gave her everything she wanted, did all she asked, was loyal and kind—but obviously _lust_ always wins out in the end! But no, I don’t have the time to talk about this. Alastair, I was sleeping in the garden in the center of the school—you know the one.”

                All of them did. It was a gargantuan, sprawling garden that was more like a forest that sat in the center of the school, filled with magical creatures and magical plants. More than once, students wandered in and never came out, or else were found but were never quite the same. Many insisted it was more dangerous than the mountains and forests around the school. The Headmaster— _Or rather, previous Headmaster_ , Horas thought to himself grimly—was one of the few professors who could navigate comfortably in the place.

                “Your uncle poisoned me. Murdered me. Is murdering me. Perhaps I’m already dead,” the Patronus mused aloud wanly. “Killed me to be Headmaster, can you believe it? And he’s been chasing after Genevieve for as long as I can remember, and now he can take her…Horrible. Terrible. Horrible.” The dog shook its head as the light around it began to fade further until it only emitted a small, dim glow.

                “I don’t care how you do it and I don’t care what you do,” the Patronus told Alastair as it began to disappear, “but leave Genevieve alone. Let her get off easy. She’ll pay for what she did—eventually,” it added with a vindictive growl—a promise.

                “Wait—father!” Alastair reached forward, but his hand slipped right through the apparition.

                “Goodbye, Alastair,” the Patronus sighed. “Remember me.”

                With a final exhale of release, the Patronus blinks out of existence so the only light around them is by the tips of their wands. The ground on which the Patronus sat is undisturbed, as if it was never there at all, like it was all a dream. Alastair lowered his hand and stared at the empty space where his father’s Patronus had been only seconds before.

                Abruptly, Alastair rose, his cheeks wet and his eyes wide and furious. “I’ll kill them.”

                “Alastair?” Horas said, shocked, as Alastair shouldered past Horas and headed towards the school.

                “I’ll kill them! I’ll kill my uncle and I’ll kill my bitch mother! I’ll kill anyone who was involved, anyone who knew—I’ll kill all of them!” he roared.

                “Alastair, settle down,” Horas tried to quiet him, jogging to keep up with Alastair’s long, purposeful strides. Leando and Gaspard weren’t far behind.

                “You heard him!” Alastair shouted, not bothering to lower his voice. He seemed intent on waking the entire castle up. “You heard my father! He told me to remember him! And I will.” He lowered his voice for a moment. “I swear I will.”

                He paused in his marching so suddenly Horas walked right into his back. He apologized with a low murmur before circling around and looking at Alastair in the eye.

                “Alastair, I’m sorry about your father,” he said seriously, “but you can’t actually be thinking about—?”

                “Of course I am,” he spat before his expression softened. He clapped a hand on Horas’ shoulder and said, “You’re one of my best friends, Horas. The best. Will you keep this a secret for me?”

                “Of course,” Horas said automatically, “but Alastair—”

                “And you two—you’ll keep this a secret?” Alastair turned to Gaspard and Leando. They glanced at each other before replying at the same time, “I don’t think so” and “Yes, no problem” respectively. The other three stared at Gaspard, who scowled.

                “What do you think you’re going to achieve by keeping this secret?” Gaspard asked. “Don’t you think it’d be better to, I don’t know, go to Genevieve and tell her what happened?”

                “She might be in on it,” Alastair replied instantly, and Gaspard snorted.

                “Now you’re just sounding paranoid,” Gaspard shot back. “You don’t even know if your uncle is the one that—”

                “Did you _hear him_?” Alastair demanded, pointing back to the forest. “You were there, weren’t you? You have ears, don’t you? You can hear, _can’t you_? He said it was my _uncle_!”

                “He also told you to avenge him. Some dad.”

                “Shut up!” Alastair snapped. “Are you going to tell everyone about this then?”  
                “What, are you going to _kill me too_?”

                The pair of them stood in tense silence for a moment before Horas stepped forward and cleared his throat.

                “Gaspard, maybe it’d be best to just go along with Alastair. It’s _his_ father, after all,” he said from behind Alastair, his eyes silently pleading. Gaspard considered him carefully before he spat into the ground.

                “Whatever.”

                Alastair, however, did not seem completely convinced.

                “Take the Unbreakable Vow.”

                The other three let out varying exclamations of protest (“Alastair, come on”, “The _Unbreakable Vow_?”, “Hell no”), and Alastair crossed his arms adamantly.

                “I need your _promises_.”

                “You need to make a promise where we’ll _die_ if we break it?” Horas questioned, and Alastair replied, “Well, if you intended to keep your promise, it shouldn’t matter, anyway.”

                The tense silence was palpable.

                “Horas,” Alastair held out his right hand expectantly, and Horas stared at it apprehensively.

                “Horas, my friend,” Alastair pressed, “do this for me. Please.”

                _I’m going to regret this_ , thought Horas before clasping Alastair’s hand.

                “Gaspard?”

                “I’m not doing this,” Gaspard curled his lip, and Leando stepped forward instead with his wand. He solemnly pressed it atop Horas and Alastair’s hands.

                “Will you, Horas, stay loyal to me and my mission?”  
                “I will.”

A string of white flame shot from the end of Leando’s wand and circled their wrists.  
                “And will you keep my mission a secret until it has been fully completed?”

                “I will.”

                A second flame linked to the first and spun around dizzyingly.

                “And will you, should you need to, assist me in anything I require in this mission—even if it includes completing it should I die?”

                Horas swallowed hard. _Say no_.

                “I will.”

                Alastair blinked in silent thanks as the third chain appeared, and the long string of fire swirled madly around their wrists before tightening around their hands, burning and tightening painfully before fading. Horas carefully released his hand from Alastair’s grip and rubbed his skin, instinctively feeling for the brand that he knew wouldn’t be there. Not physically, anyway.

                “Now you two,” Alastair beckoned.

                “This is stupid,” Gaspard insisted, making to walk around Alastair, but Alastair grasped Gaspard’s hand and gripped it tight.

                “Are you my friend or aren’t you?”

                Gaspard’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

                “Leando.”

                Once again, Leando pressed his wand on two joined hands, and Alastair recited the vows. With gritted teeth and much spitting, Gaspard agreed to all of them before tearing his hand out of Alastair’s grip and looking like he was about to punch him.

                “Fucking ridiculous,” he muttered, taking a few paces back.

                “Leando,” Alastair called for him the second time, and Leando approached and swallowed hard before taking Alastair’s hand shakily. They repeated the ceremony the third time with Horas acting as the Bonder. Then Leando stepped back and rubbed his hands together nervously.

                “Well then,” Alastair said in satisfaction. “Men, I’m grateful to you. You’re the best friends anyone could ask for. I’ll set this right with your help.” He gathered the other three together, their faces tense and apprehensive, as he smiled and clapped them on the shoulders.

                “Come on. Let’s go back. Together.” 


End file.
